Your Rain
by sakuyavalentine
Summary: One-shot. Leon x Ada. Leon x Angela.


**Your Rain**

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"You touched my body once.  
It burns me still softly,  
never forgets, never again will be…"

- Mary Elizabeth McGylnn - _Your Rain _

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Long after midnight had come and gone, as a gentle rain knocked against the window like small stones, the moon cast a faint, silvery glow between the clouds through wispy curtains and spread across the floor. The apartment itself, twenty by twenty-five and furnished with nothing more than a nicked chest of drawers in the corner beside the small closet, an old double bed with a firm mattress that squealed like a dying mouse and a sink coated in soap scum with a leaky faucet, was still beneath the blue hue. Beside the window, on a rickety table levelled by an old, yellow-paged hardcover, sat a 9 mm handgun, extra cartridge and sheathed knife, glittering dangerously in the moonlight.

Above the streets and buildings, their windows dark, occupants sleeping, memories of terror long forgotten, thunder followed bright flashes of light sparking between the clouds, a low rumble that shook the earth. The rain fell more intensely for a moment, then stopped as though someone had decided to turn down the tap. Unable to sleep, he lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, then the wall, then followed the moisture as it fell down the glass.

Seven years ago to the date, that's how long it had been. A simple job, a cop keeping the peace, had so easily turned into a fight for humanity and a never-ending dance with the Devil, days without a warm bed or bath to wash away the caked-on dirt and blood, days of starvation and sleeplessness in foreign countries, the mind constantly on guard, horrors beyond anyone's wildest imagination. He couldn't count how many people he'd killed, how many fathers, mother, brothers and sisters, even a child or two, who's existence he'd erased with a simply pull of a trigger. And for what? The supposed Greater Good. For society, the world, he fought.

But what about him? What prize was he awarded? Nightmares and cold sweats? Guilt, shame and fear? Death and injury and betrayal from those he thought friends, lovers?

Shifting his weight, he pulled up the corner of the mattress, unleashing a cloud of dust and a screech capable of rousing his sleeping partner. He waited, tense, the hair on his arms and neck on end as though awaiting a vicious war cry or buzzing chainsaw. All there was was the pitter-patter of rain. He reached beneath the mattress for a sheet of paper, its folds worn and weak, and rose to read it by the window. The hand was curled, common in women, and short for safety purposes and there in the corner, the only indication of personality: a red grease stain in the shape of lips.

She'd kissed him with those lips once; they were rough and cracked and tasted of blood, her blood; so unlike a woman's lips. But then, she never saw herself as much of a woman. Her comrades were all men, and she fought like one too. Not dainty or careful, lest she break a nail or wound an innocent. People were her playthings in a dangerous game of chess, and she did what she could to win. Yet, beneath the lies and trickery, behind the guns, she could not deny what she was. A figure in red that could make his knees tremble, his heart flutter. She was a temptress and he a fool, continually burnt by Hell's fire. Somewhere, in all his years of dealing with viruses and plagues, he too had become ill by her acid rain.

The bed quivered. Perhaps _she_ wasn't asleep after all. Sitting up, the sheets around her fell away and the dim silver light illuminated milky skin and feminine curves canvas-covered plates and stiff cotton did well to hide. Her caramel-brown hair fell down her back in messy waves. He loved that little mole on her chin.

"Leon, is everything all right?" Though they were the only two there, her voice was a whisper.

He nodded slowly and forced what was supposed to be a smile. It was a twitch of the lips, really. He'd forgotten how to smile years ago. "Yeah. Sorry."

Her eyes followed him across the room, where he opened the window and tore the letter to pieces, letting the wind carry it away. Somehow, somewhere, they'd find each other again, so long as they were alive. They always did. Fate was a bitch that way. But then, rewards were always more gratifying when sought after, weren't they?

When the window was closed again, the sound of the storm muffled, he returned to bed, felt her gaze on him and met it. Her brows came together in a furrow, reading the expression that wasn't there. "Are you feeling okay?"

In another time, in another place, he may have said no. Memories and ancient feelings left his heart racing, his stomach lurching, his skin fevered. In another time he would not even be here, with her. Everlasting loneliness tended to begin with witty remarks and flirty quips, only to burn out in a sizzling sense of duty, honour and infamy.

But tonight with this woman who lived what he lived, stared Fear in mutated eye, loved and lost beyond remedy, he smirked and flipped her over, her soft waves spread across the pillows.

"Perfect." He descended on her, pressing his mouth to hers hungrily while her fingers threaded through his hair.

_For every illness_, he thought, feeling the familiar vices of blooming love around his waist beneath the sheets, _there is a cure._

_._

**Disclaimer: **All _Resident Evil _characters are property of Namco (I wish I owned Leon though...Tee hee)


End file.
